The Enchanted Forest

Fiction

30 Minute Read

The wipers moved across the windshield and back, erasing the light film that the misty rain had placed there. Almost immediately the film returned, and the wipers silently performed their duty once again.

The dark haired driver anxiously adjusted the wiper speed, increasing then decreasing the frequency. “Of course it rains on the weekend we had plans to camp,” he grumbled.

“You know what they say - if you only plan on camping when it’s not going to rain, you’ll never go camping.” The car’s only passenger stared down at his notebook, seemingly removed from the conversation. Before they left town he had slammed down a few beers and his buzz was of the inspirational sort. They had almost three hours to drive to the trailhead and the scenery was ruined thanks to the thick blanket caused by the constant deluge of moisture from the sky - why not relax and take his mind off of the world for a few moments?

“I hate that saying. You always say that.”

“Yeah, because it’s true.”

The passenger grinned at his friend’s thorny reply. He knew from experience that he didn’t mean anything by it.

Still, he had a point. They had been planning this excursion for months now. They had researched their route, calculated their food portions, taken off work, meticulously stuffed their packs with only the essentials...but despite the fact that they had both hefted along rain gear, at no time during their planning was rain ever mentioned.

“I’m going to try to take a quick nap. Let me know if you need anything.” The passenger’s inspiration had quickly turned into a droopy eyed sleepiness, and he felt the immediate need to rest. It didn’t take long before sleep covered him like the fog that covered the dreary landscape outside of the car windows.

He woke a few hours later and gazed out of the car’s rain splattered glass. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tied his long, blonde hair into a bun. The rain was still coming down, but it seemed as if it had eased a bit. They were headed down a bumpy dirt road that was quickly covering the car in a fine, brown layer of earthen paint. On each side of the road spanned swamps lined with ancient pine trees that towered above the landscape. Despite the rain they had chosen the perfect time to trek north - the trees were in the middle of their yearly fall transformation and were colored with vivid reds, oranges, and yellows.

“Woah, John, look at those colors!” the passenger exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah. I’ve been enjoying them while you took your cat nap.”

They finally spotted the state park sign and veered to the right to follow it. Driving slowly to avoid scattered potholes in the road, they made their way through the park’s road system. After a few minutes of silent driving and fiddling with random gear, they pulled up into the empty parking lot. A beautiful yellow birch tree stretched over the entrance to the trail and a well maintained trail sign pointed the way into the woods.

The long haired hiker walked over to the sign and read it aloud. “Yellow Birch Trail. Wonder how they came up with that name?” he snorted sarcastically as he lit up a cigarette.

“I really wish you wouldn’t smoke those, especially here. I come to the woods to get away from the smell of the city. Hard to do that when you’re puffing like a chimney.”

“Eh, you’ll get over it. Before too long we will have a fire started and you won’t even notice it.”

“I’m not sharing that warmth with you if you’re blowing smoke in my face...pretty dead here, huh? Guess the rain scared everyone off.”

“You’ve got that right. It’s starting to die down anyways - I think I see blue sky over there. Oh well man, their loss. Should we get going?”

“Sure.”

With that the pair took a few minutes to do some last minute packing, check their food, and lock up the car. They shouldered their packs and started off down the trail. They were headed to a hike in site about five miles down the trail - with half the day left they should get there with plenty of time to set up camp and get a fire going before dark.

From start to finish they were treated to a beautiful foray of colors and scenery. They would make their way from one color section to another, walking through a yellow tunnel, then through an orange cave, running into green pines and red maples mixed in with the largely predominant birch trees. Before too long they started hearing the rush of the river. A downhill stretch of the trail that jutted with exposed tree roots as well as the approaching sound of the water told them that they were getting close. Near the river a rickety wooden bridge led across a small stream - clearly rotting wood and slippery leaves made for a treacherous crossing, especially with fully loaded packs on their backs.

“Shit man, I don’t like the looks of this. I’m going to have a cig over here and think about it for a second.”

“Come on Ansel, don’t be a bitch,” said his dark haired companion. “It’s like four steps. Just jump on and make your way across.”

“Alright alright, just give me a second.” The blonde hiker made his way across carefully with a nervous look on his face. “That wasn’t so bad.” he stated as he stepped his way down off the bridge. “Say, have you started feeling weird at all over the past half hour or so? Not sure what it is but I have a slight feeling of...euphoria, all of a sudden. I started to notice it right when we walked into the forest.”

“Now that you mention it, I have started feeling a bit funny. We’re probably just not used to this fresh forest air.”

“Maybe...hmm.”

Neither of them had noticed, but if they would have stopped a bit longer and taken a closer look at the air around the bridge, they would have noticed it shimmering slightly, almost like hot asphalt. They also might have noticed the message that had been carved into the tree that was almost completely covered by moss:

TURN BACK OR THE FOREST WILL TAKE YOU

The pair continued on the trail. They finally reached the river. There was a small clearing that allowed them to look up and across the massive body of water. They could see huge volumes of water churning, cascading, flowing on a mission to reach the ocean thousands of miles away. The hike grew increasingly difficult as they approached the campsite, with the path becoming something more closely resembling footholds stuck in a vertical surface than a trail in places. After some effort they were able to wander into their campsite, which was no more than a small clearing cut into the woods with a few large trees overhead to provide shade - rain coverage in this case - and a firepit.

“Home sweet home!” Ansel exclaimed as he set his pack down and set about to survey the area around the site. “Hopefully we can get a fire going tonight, everything in the forest is drenched…”

The pair wasted no time brandishing their hatchets and starting a search for dry wood. They were lucky enough to find a few dead trees that had been covered from the rainfall by their still living brethren. After hauling back enough dry wood for the night they dug several dry pieces of paper out of their packs and began to arrange the kindling.

“Why don’t you just sit back and relax? As the Firemaster of the group I should be able to handle this on my own.” stated Ansel jokingly, giving a sly look at his companion.

“Ha! You think you’re the Firemaster? Remember that time only two weeks ago when you couldn’t get anything started and we spent the whole night shivering our asses off?”

“They sold us wet wood at the gas station!” exclaimed Ansel, throwing his hands up. “Neither of us could get a damn thing going that night.”

“Whatever you say. Show me how it’s done, Firemaster. I’m going to crack a beer and get ready for the show.”

An hour later and past the point of arguing with each other the team was able to finally get a fire going. It may have taken some time for the initial flame to catch, but before long after that they had a blaze roaring that kept them warm all night. After spending some time enjoying a few beverages and talking about the plan for tomorrow the sun set on the hikers. If you have ever been in the middle of the woods in the deep of the night and watched as the night slowly took over the landscape until you could hardly see your own hand in front of your face, you know well that there is little more to do than either sit by the fire or go to bed. Tired from a long day of traveling, hiking, and firemaking, the companions chose the latter, blissfully unaware of what the next day held in store for them.

Thanks to an early bedtime the hikers arose with the sun, just as their Pleistocene ancestors did day in and day out thousands of years ago.

“This is how things should be.” proclaimed Ansel as he sipped his morning coffee. “Go to bed with the sun, wake up with the sun, no phones to answer, focused only on the task at hand.”

“Well, if you want me to leave you here I would be happy to.” chided John as he studied the map. “So first we need to hike down to the river, then follow that up to the falls, then loop back around until we run into the Yellow Birch Trail head. From there we can either take the same path back or walk a bit farther and take another trail head. Weird, it’s not labeled here on the map...but I remember seeing it when we pulled up yesterday.”

“I’m all in for a bit of adventure!” hooted Ansel loudly. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

“Thanks for ruining my peaceful morning,” John replied. “But you’re right, let’s get camp organized and head out ASAP.”

They did just that, then took off with little more than full bottles of water and food for lunch. There is hardly a more liberating feeling than setting off on a new, unknown path with everything you need on your back. The two displayed this gusto with their pace; although the trail was challenging and marred with rocks, roots, leaves, and mud, they cruised through the bush in no time, stopping only to investigate other campsites and to stand in river clearings to appreciate the changing of the seasons and the crisp fall air.

Before long they arrived at what had promised to be the highlight of the weekend - the falls they had anticipated running into about five miles up the river.

“Wow. These are way cooler than I expected,” exclaimed Ansel as he lifted his camera to his eye and snapped off several shots. “Very nice.”

As he pulled his camera down from his eye, Ansel noticed some movement on the other side of the river. Staying still, he lifted his camera back to focus, hoping that he might catch some wildlife in its natural habitat. He zoomed in on where he had seen the movement and scanned his camera…and two his surprise, two very wide and very human eyes looked back at him through a bush. The person looked extremely ragged, leaves sticking from their hair and dirt smudged on their face. Out of instinct Ansel pushed the shutter button; he took a few shots before what he was actually seeing sunk in. He lowered his camera and shouted over to them “Hey! Are you ok? Do you need help?” He could still see them, albeit not in as much detail as he could make out through the camera lens. They looked like they wanted to bolt instantly, like a wild animal that knows it’s been spotted but isn’t yet sure what the other party will do. They hesitatingly poked their head out of the bushes and yelled at him. “Ansel! Go home! Don’t stay here!” The other person’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, like it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Before Ansel had time to react the other party had bounded off into the woods, disappearing in an instant.

Ansel stood open mouthed, unsure of how to react. John walked out of the trail into the clearing made by the river and saw a stunned Ansel staring across the river into the woods.

“Hey man, you see something? Bear? Moose? Did you see a moose?” He inquired excitedly.

“No…I wish that’s all I had seen.” He quickly laid out the event for John.

“Dude, it sounds like you’re describing some shit from an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“Yes, 100%” replied Ansel firmly. “I even took some photos of the person. Check it out.” He punched the review button and held the screen up to his friends face.

John raised his eyebrows and looked at Ansel. “All I see is a white screen. You sure that thing is working?” he joked, clearly not taking his friend seriously at this point.

Ansel took a look at his camera as well and furiously reviewed the photos he had just taken - all of them were washed out. Photo after photo showed a completely white screen. He ran through the normal progressions when he had a photo that was overexposed - checked his lens cap, his settings, took another test photo. The same exact picture of the bank now showed up as a clear, crisp photo on his display.

“I have no idea what happened there. I captured the person perfectly, I even reviewed the picture on my camera afterwards…”Ansel’s voice trailed off in confusion and doubt.

“Not going to lie Ansel, you’re kind of freaking me out. I feel like you might be getting a little tired - maybe we should take a little break here at the falls, get some food and water. What do you think?”

“I’m not going crazy. I know what I saw.” said Ansel angrily. He went back to reviewing his photo. The photo metadata even showed he had used the correct exposure settings…unless there was something wrong with his camera the photos should have turned out.

John spent some additional time admiring the falls, while Ansel continued to peer at his camera, still stunned by the event. John gave him a few more minutes of space, then he walked over and gently suggested that they move on from the falls and head out to the rest of the loop.

Ansel glared at him in return. “There’s a person out there!” he said passionately. “What if they need help? What if they are stranded out here and are starving to death?” he jabbed his finger into space, pointing across the river. “If you were stuck out there, would you want someone like us to just stroll on by without even trying to help?” He whirled around, staring back out into the woods.

“Look, Ansel, I know you’re pretty set on what you saw. But isn’t it possible that maybe you saw some type of animal and may have confused it for a person?” he said gently.

“Animals don’t yell at you across the river.” he responded flatly. He could tell that his friend didn’t believe what he saw, and that frustrated him beyond belief. “Do you know what I think? I think that you really just want to sit back and do nothing because I saw something and you didn’t, and now you’re scared to listen to what I’m saying because that means you might have to take action.”

Those words stung John. “So what would you suggest we do? To get over to the other side we would have to make our way across the river at some point upstream or downstream. Once you get across, if you go following whatever you saw in the woods, you might get lost yourself. There’s no trail; if you go too far you’ll lose this landmark. Who knows how long it would take you to get back, even with the river as a reference.”

“That’s true,” Ansel admitted. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re heading back to the trailhead.” He glanced at his phone. No service flashed across the top. “I can’t make a call here, but we had a signal at the parking lot. As soon as we get back we contact the DNR and report what we saw.” He strapped on his pack, suddenly determined. He nodded to himself. “Let’s go.” He said, and walked past John, not unintentionally bumping shoulders as he passed. He hadn’t told John a detail that had taken him completely off guard and left a deep pit of uncertainty in his stomach - the person that he had seen across the river looked and sounded alarmingly like his friend.

Ansel led them with determination to the loop of trail that would lead them back to the Yellow Birch trailhead. On this loop of trail the leaves were in their full splendor, and the forest ignored the tension in the air - it met the mood with beauty, purity, and splendor.

With about half of the 12 mile loop in the books they decided to take a quick break for a glamourous lunch of jerky, granola bars, and an apple. Ansel had led the way with dogged intent and they had covered the ground in no time. Most of the meal passed in silence; they were enjoying the tranquility of the forest and the total isolation that the woods offered. They were also trying to process recent events and were looking forward to resolving the rift between them. With only themselves and the trees for company it felt as if they were completely alone, cut off from all civilization. If only they knew how alone they truly were.

“Well, should we get moving?” asked Ansel after a few more moments of quiet had gone by. “It’s a bit past noon, and we still have a decent hike a head of us.”

“Let’s do it,” responded John. After several hours of equally splendid trails and a noisy silence between them they arrived back where they had left the car at their original starting point the day before.

The instant they arrived at the car Ansel set his pack down and pulled out his phone to call the DNR. He took a look at his screen and waited for his phone to connect to service…which it never did. He asked John to try his phone, and he saw more of the same.

“Ok. We have a choice to make.” Said Ansel gravely. “We can either continue our weekend and make the call when we get back, or we leave now and call right away.” He glanced around the empty parking lot, talking mostly to himself. “Weird that there still isn’t anyone out here…I just wish we could forget that this whole thing happened and continue our weekend.” Just as he said those words a strange feeling came over him. It was a happy, carefree feeling…making the call could wait. They were out in the woods enjoying a weekend of peaceful solitude. That person had been out here for ages probably. What was one more day. He turned to John with his newfound mood coursing through him.

“Say, John…I think we will be ok with finishing our trip and then calling the DNR. You were right back at the river - there’s probably not much we could do for that person anyways. Finding somebody in this forest would be like searching for a needle in the haystack. Should we hike back to camp and try this alternate trail? I know it’s not labeled on the map, but it does look like it meets back up with the river just below our campsite. It might be nice to get some new scenery.”

John was surprised that his friend was so willing to drop the episode. That was very unlike him Still, a feeling of joy had come over him as well and he was content to forget about the entire ordeal and spend forever in these woods if he could. “I’m down to check out a new trail. It for sure leads us back home? To the site?” He added the last sentence even though he had started to feel like the campsite was home.

“Check out the map - it totally loops back around and meets up right by our campsite.”

“Alright then. If we get lost I’m blaming it on you.”

The two started down the trail, excited about the prospect of some new sights and a novel hike. They had started to fall under the spell of the forest. If they would have walked a few yards past the car they would have noticed the same shimmering barrier surrounding the parking lot. They also would have found the DNR outpost that was covered in warnings, ravings, and the remains of others who hadn’t been able to escape the forest’s grasp.

The two had only hiked about five minutes when Ansel broke the silence. “You know what I really wish we had? Some nice, dry firewood at the campsite,” complained Ansel. “This rain has pretty much soaked everything through, even the stuff we set aside last night.”

“Same here...wait, what is that up ahead? Sitting on the picnic table there?”

“I don’t...oh yeah, now I see it. Is that a bushel of wood?”

Indeed it was. They could hardly believe it - they wished for dry wood, and there it was right in front of them!

Unfortunately they were much too far from their campsite to carry it back with them. Astounded but crestfallen they continued down the trail.

“I wonder how much further we have?” John asked. “I wouldn’t mind taking a break for a quick snack.”

“I could go a bit further, but if you want to stop I’m definitely down. Let’s go a bit more and see if we can find a place to take a break.”

After hiking for a few more minutes the two stumbled upon a small lean to. A rusted aluminum roof was propped up by a compilation of warped logs and plywood. The interior of the shelter was decorated by graffiti.

“It’s no steakhouse, but it will do for a snack stop!” Exclaimed Ansel. “Some creepy graffiti though, check this out. ‘Turn back. The forest is haunted!’ These people have a sick sense of humor,” he laughed.

“What if they aren’t joking? Seems like there are similar messages written all over this little shack…” muttered John nervously.

“Oh, don’t be such a credule. I’m sure they are just trying to mess with other hikers like us. Look, there’s some positive things too. ‘The forest will give you everything you need. Just ask.’ How profound.”

“Whatever. Let’s just eat and get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

They did just that, stopping only long enough to give their backs a break from their packs and scarf down their food.

With their snacks demolished they shouldered their packs for what seemed like the hundredth time and started off down the trail once again. Backpacking through the woods is a game of repetition; left foot-right foot-left foot-right foot, stop for a break-set down your pack, pick up your pack-left foot-right foot-left-right foot; this continues until you are either tired or reach your destination, usually a combination of both.

After repeating this process for nearly 10 miles the pair was ready for some rest as well as their destination. The long hike had sparked their appetites, and the small morsels they had consumed hardly satisfied their body’s need for hearty sustenance that is so important after sustained strenuous activity.

“Oh man, I can’t wait to get back to the campsite and cook up some food. You know, for being made of 99% sodium, those freeze dried camping meals aren’t half bad.” exclaimed Ansel as he stepped over a large tree root.

"Yeah, they aren’t terrible, but I would much prefer some brats cooked over a the fire with golden brown s’mores to wash them down,” countered John. “I think it’s ironic that you are trying to avoid eating meat, but you’re perfectly ok with continuing to smoke those cancer sticks.”

“I’m not going vegetarian because of the health benefits, although that is a nice bonus.” responded Ansel sneerily. “I’m sick of your comments about it. Let’s just get back and make some food.”

After several more minutes of silent hiking Ansel stopped and John almost ran right into him.

“Hey, what’s that over there?”

A brightly colored object stood out in stark contrast on the brown forest floor. The two continued towards the object like crows attracted to a shiny piece of metal. As they got closer they could see it was a cooler. It was covered in dirt and completely wet - it hadn’t rained since yesterday morning, so they could clearly tell that it had been laying there for a while. It rested at the foot of a steep hill, and looking towards the crest of the hill they could see a winding path leading upwards and a small wooden sign planted in the ground near the top.

“That looks like another campsite up there. I bet that they had this tied up into a tree, it came loose, and rolled down the hill.” said Ansel as he hefted the bag. “It’s a bit heavy to be hanging from all but the biggest branches. Wouldn’t be surprised if the branch snapped at some point.”

“You’re probably right. Should we bring it up there and see if they are around?” Asked John.

“Let’s do it. I sure as hell would want someone to bring my food bag back up to me. That hill looks pretty steep - should be a nice challenge!”

Without further conversation they started up the incline. The persistent rains had turned the precipitous slope into a slippery soup, and they struggled and slid their way up inch by inch.

After about 10 minutes of slipping and sliding they arrived at the top of the hill. They had expected to find a campsite setup and maybe run into its residents, but what greeted them was more than surprising.

The campsite was in total disarray. A half setup tent sagged sadly, the door to the tent left hanging wide open. Trash and camping supplies littered the ground. Sleeping bags, tupperware containers, and folding chairs were scattered carelessly around as if their owner had gotten tired of them and left them where they lay. Fairy lights surrounded the campsite, giving it an eerie glow in the overcast environment. The lights were still lit.

Ansel set the cooler down and walked into the center of the ring of lights. John paused at the edge of the campsite, fidgeting nervously with the strap on his daypack.

“I don’t like the feel of this, man. This place is freaking me out…who just abandons a campsite like this?”

Ansel didn’t have a response. He made his way around the campsite, examining different discarded items. He began to subconsciously sort them into piles in his mind - one pile for things that were still salvageable, and one pile for things that would need to be left behind.

“I bet they are just out for a hike, and they will be back in no time,” muttered John nervously. “We should just leave the cooler hanging somewhere and get out of here…”

Now Ansel began to physically separate the items. Dirty, rain sodden pillow - trash pile. Tarp propped up with a nice set of foldable poles - salvage. How about this tent? Shoot, there’s a huge hole ripped in the back. Trash pile. Nice tupperware container with the clasps on the sides - salvage.

“Dude, what are you doing? This isn’t our stuff!”

Ansel turned to John with a serious look in his eyes.

“Look at this shit John. It’s been here for weeks. Months maybe. The tent has a giant hole in the back and there is water pooled in the bottom. The sleeping bags are soaked through. Nothing here has been touched in ages. You know what I think happened? These people hiked out here with more than they needed and decided they would rather leave their shit here then carry it back to their car. Lazy bastards.”

“I mean…you might be right. Everything does look pretty run down. But still, these aren’t our things. Maybe there was an emergency. Maybe they still mean to come back and get all of it. You don’t know what happened!”

“No, I don’t.” Admitted Ansel as he picked up a piece of trash and stuffed it into a garbage bag he had found laying around. “At least they were decent enough to leave us a bag that we could use to clean up after them.” He walked a few more paces and picked up another piece of trash. “Either way, look around you. These people are pigs. They left trash laying all over. They brought full size couch pillows with them on a backpacking trip. Pillows!" he almost shouted incredulously. He took a moment to gather himself and lowered his voice to a reasonable level. “Have you seen anybody else out here since we arrived? There were no other cars in the parking lot. We talked about how the rain scared everyone off, remember? They aren’t coming back. They left all of this trash here for someone else to take care of.” He didn’t try to hide the steel edge of disapproval from his final sentence.

Several minutes passed as Ansel continued to pick up trash and sort the leftover belongings into their respective piles. John slowly walked over to a camp chair that had been left standing and took a seat, a pensive look in his eyes.

Ansel broke the silence. “Look, I’m sorry if I yelled at you. I know you are trying to to do the right thing. But I truly believe these people are not coming back. If I wind up being wrong, then I’ll take the blame. But the least we can do is pick up this trash, haul some of this stuff back to our cars, and do our best to cleanup. When we get back home we can let the Forest Service know about the rest of it. What do you think?”

“I guess you’re right. We can at least do that. Let’s get moving.”

John joined in on the effort to get the trash picked up and all of the items sorted. They spent the next 30 minutes or so finishing up the chore, then started back towards their campsite. Something about the fairy lights had kept them pinned into the small area that comprised the campsite; however if they had only ventured a short distance outside of the ring they would have undoubtedly noticed the two skeletons laying side by side against a large maple tree. One of the bony hands clutched a rotting slab of wood; on the flat part of the slab a warning had been carved:

DO NOT TAKE WHAT THE FOREST PROVIDES

The two returned to their campsite slightly flustered from the day’s events, but happy to be back to their temporary home. Hiking can take a lot out of a person, and the day’s trails proved to be no exception. To their great delight the food in the cooler was still good, kept cold by the Northern fall. John was ecstatic to find a package of unopened bratwurst and wasted no time getting a fire going and setting them to cook over the flames. Ansel reluctantly agreed to the dinner plan, making only a few grumbling comments about animal welfare and the environmental impact of raising livestock.

“Today was pretty strange - we wished for wood and poof! There it was. Same with the food…it’s almost like we asked for it, and the forest gave it to us.” mused John.

“Yeah, you’re right. It was pretty sweet actually - you know what, I think it’s a good metaphor for living. Nature can give us all we need, we just need to ask for it. But - we can’t get too greedy. Only ask for what we truly need, and even then we should try to live as simply as possible.” replied Ansel philosophically.

“Alright, Thoreau." joked John back. “You know what though, that’s not too bad of an idea. I think I could get used to it.”

The short days of fall meant an early sunset. As the natural light faded and the firelight bounced off of their faces the combination of a long day of hiking, full bellies, and serenity of nature weighed upon their eyelids. Similar to the night before they both climbed into their hammocks shortly after the sun had set and fell asleep almost as soon as they zipped up their sleeping bags.

The next morning greeted them with bright sunshine. Their moods much improved with the new day, they climbed out of their hammocks and set about making breakfast immediately. It was a peaceful morning spent with hot coffee, good books, and relaxation.

Before too long it was time to break down camp. They shared a bittersweet feeling at leaving their campsite abode; it meant that their weekend getaway was coming to a close; but it also meant that they could get home and change out of their camping clothes, wash the smell of sweat and campfire away, and relax in their warm home with good food and sleep in a comfortable bed.

First, however, they had to deal with the excess gear that they had accumulated from the campsite they had stumbled upon the day before. They agreed that it would be best to not overdo it and to take two trips rather than attempting to carry everything back at once. They loaded up with their own gear, stacking the extra items neatly by a tree for retrieval when they returned.

The hike back to the car passed quickly and in relative silence. There is something about traveling a trail on the way out versus the way in; the excitement leading up to the period of hiking has passed, the spirit knows that the precious time in the solitude of the woods is coming to a close. The steps that previously led over novel ground now carry the body over familiar twists, turns, roots, and rocks. The brain tries to capture that remaining time and appreciate it, but no matter how hard it tries the time always seems to pass by quickly.

The two unloaded their things into the car and started back to their campsite. They still did not see any other cars in the parking lot, which they found strange. There had not been a sign of another single person besides the abandoned site. Their goal for the weekend had been to get away from people and civilization, and they had certainly accomplished it.

At one point on the hike back John stopped and looked around quizzically.

“Hey Ansel…did we take a wrong turn somewhere? I don’t remember splitting off on the trail, but I’m not recognizing this stretch.”

“I noticed the same thing,” replied Ansel. He reached into his pocket and unfolded his park map. “According to the map that main trail that we followed into our site doesn’t have any alternate trails you can follow, but we must have taken an unmarked path at some point. Not to worry…” he dug into his pocket again and pulled out a compass. “I have never really needed to use this thing, but always carry it with me just in case. I guess it finally came in handy.” He flipped open the cover to reveal the compass needle. He blinked a few times and furrowed his brow. “What the…”

“Having some troubles over there?”, joked John.

“Dude…take a look at this.” said Ansel with a slight waver in his voice. He held the compass out to John.

The compass was spinning inside the bezel uncontrollably at an impossible rate. Any attempt to tip the compass one direction or another didn’t change the rate at which the needle spun.

John didn’t say anything for several moments, but eventually regained his voice.

“Is there something broken with your compass? Has it ever done this before? Maybe you bumped it against a tree or something while we were hiking…” he stuttered as a way to convince his mind against what his eyes were seeing.

“No. Even so, that wouldn’t happen. It would just break. Something weird is happening. This isn’t good.”

They spent some time staring at the compass, watching it spin like a top. Ansel broke the silence.

“Ok, well we know we didn’t take any other forks in the trail. Let’s just turn around and head back the way we came and we should be able to make our way to where we started.”

Doing just that, they about faced and traversed the the trail in reverse. They continued to hike in silence, but this time it was a heavy silence; the gravity of their situation was beginning to weigh on them. When a difficult or unexpected situation comes up there is often a foreboding in the air, a feeling that all of the parties involved don’t really want to believe what is happening. The same thoughts ran through both of their heads: We’re fine, we’re going to make our way back on this trail and find the main trail back to our campsite. No big deal. It will make for a good story after and we will laugh at ourselves as we drive back home.

Several hours later they still had not located the turnoff that they thought they must have taken. The sun was going down down. The compass was still spinning.

Ansel paced back and forth in a clearing that they had stumbled upon, hand on his forehead like he was trying to support his anxiety.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, what the FUCK IS GOING ON!” his voice crescendoed as he swore, ending in a shout. The stark contrast between the loudness of his voice and the stillness of the forest left a strange tension in the air.

“Calm down Ansel. Freaking out isn’t going to help us at all. Let’s retrace our steps..”

They did just that, trying to figure out where they may have taken a wrong turn. Neither of them mentioned the fact that the compass was still a whirling dervish. They agreed that they should try to head back the other way - maybe they had just missed the turnoff in the fading light.

Darkness now began to cover the forest. Thinking that their hike to the car and back would be uneventful and during the daylight hours, neither one of them had bothered to keep their headlamps with them. The seriousness of their situation began to set in.

“So…if we don’t find the campsite by night, what should we do? It’s starting to get cold fast.” asked Ansel. They were still feeling flustered, but the initial shock of their misfortune had worn off, and they were beginning to focus on what they needed to do to get out of the woods.

“I guess we just find a dry place to lie down and try to keep warm. We could try building a shelter if we needed to. Or we could keep searching but that might be a quick ticket to getting even more lost.” He tripped over a root and caught himself on a nearby tree. Looking up, he stiffened and squinted his eyes. “Ansel! I think I see a light ahead!” He picked up the pace, nearly sprinting ahead with joy. Ansel followed suit.

As they grew nearer they slowed to a walk and strode into a wide clearing. In the middle of the clearing sat a small, quaint cabin. Smoke rose picturesquely from the chimney, and a small bulb burned in the doorway.

“This is supposed to be a state park. There shouldn’t be any private cabins here.” whispered Ansel. He peered down at his compass. Still spinning. “Well, our choice is to sleep out in the cold or go see if they have a couch we can crash on. I say we go and knock.”

“Hell no!” said John in a half panicked whisper. “Dude, look at the compass. Still going crazy. This is like a horror movie. I know what happens in that cabin.”

“Don’t so dramatic.” lectured Ansel. “Maybe they have a compass in there that’s doing the same thing. Besides, there’s two of us. I say we take the chance.” He started walking confidently towards the cabin.

“God dammit!” John muttered under his breath. He hated this idea, but he wasn’t about to let his friend go in there by himself.

Ansel’s knuckles met the stout wood door three times. Knock! Knock! Knock! The sound echoed throughout the clearing, giving them away to anyone or anything that might have been listening. The forest remained still. No noise came from the inside of the cabin - no sound of someone getting up from their comfortable chair, no sound of footsteps towards the door, nobody shouting “Who’s there!” Nothing.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually Ansel’s hand reached for the doorknob and twisted. Squeeeeaak…The door glided open easily, the hinges protesting only slightly.

Inside, the cabin looked like a stereotypical northwoods home. A wood burning stove sat in the corner emanating heat. Several inviting chairs surrounded the stove. Pictures of moose, bears, wolves, and waterfowl decorated the walls. On one side of the room was a simple kitchen. A hallway led off from the common area, presumably towards the sleeping areas and the bathroom.

“I don’t like this at all. I feel like we are breaking and entering.” said John in an exasperated tone.

“These seem like nice people. I think they would understand. We were completely lost and it was dark - hopefully they get home soon and we can be on our way and get out of this place.” Once again he checked his compass, partially out of habit now. Still going crazy. “I don’t know either though, this whole situation is freaking me out. Let’s just see if we they come home soon. It’s dark out - wonder what they might still be doing outside?”

“Probably plotting how they are going to kill us.” Said John in a flat voice. A sharp looking hatchet was buried into a log next to the stove. He made sure to choose the seat nearest the hatchet.

They had also foolishly left their cell phones with their packs and neither of them wore a watch. There was no clock in the cabin, so there was no way of telling time. They waited for what seemed like hours, avoiding further discussion of their situation in hopes that the owner of the cabin would be their saving grace. They didn’t talk about the fact that both of them would miss work tomorrow, or how long it would take before someone noticed that they weren’t back on time - they didn’t talk about anything. Each of them was left alone with their thoughts, most of which were dark and ominous.

Eventually they fell asleep. When they woke the sun was shining through the windows. The wood stove steadily burned even though neither of them had touched it during the night. Nobody had joined them in the cabin.

“Maybe they got lost somehow too?” pondered John. “They wouldn’t leave their stove burning overnight when they weren’t here…”

“They own this land, John. Do you really think they got lost on their own land?” replied Ansel sarcastically. “Let’s just get out of here. I have an idea - maybe if we can find the river we can determine where we are, then we can follow that back to the park trail. Our campsite was right next to the river. If only this damn compass would stop doing this paranormal shit.”

They set out in search of the river. They wandered for hours, passing what seemed like the same landmarks over and over. A huge downed tree with branches like a porcupine. A gnarled root protruding from the trail. A large boulder covered in moss. As they passed these hauntingly familiar monuments their panic began to grow. Something strange was obviously going on. They had known that from the beginning, but had denied, denied, denied it. Now it was too obvious to avoid. They shouted at each other in disagreement over what to do next. They sat apart with their heads in their hands, stomachs full of dread. Darkness began to set, and they begged out loud for any sign of the trail, anything that might help them. Just as the trail was starting to disappear in front of their eyes, they spotted a bright light shining into the woods. A light that they had both seen before. They walked into the same clearing as the previous night, and the same cabin sat in the middle of the clearing, spouting the same smoke. Knock! Knock! Knock! The same echo reverberated through the woods, and the same silence wrapped around them like a blanket. They sat down in their chairs, John’s hand on the hatchet, Ansel staring at his compass. They fell asleep waiting for the cabin’s fictional residents to arrive and lead them out of the forest labyrinth, desperately hoping that tomorrow would bring them respite…

Ansel awoke from his chair with the sun shining on his face. He looked around the warm cabin - the fire burned in the stove as it always did. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. The machine hadn’t been there at first, but he had wished for it one day and the next it was there, tucked neatly in the corner. That had been ages ago. These days he didn’t leave the cabin at all - no telling what might be out there waiting for him. He had stopped questioning things by now. In the past he nearly drove himself to insanity thinking about what might be watching him, who was doing this to him. Now he was resigned to his situation like a prisoner who knows there is no chance of escape. John had tried to escape, tried to fight against what the cabin and forest provided. Eventually he had lost his mind and wandered off in the forest one day babbling about finally doing something for himself. He never returned. Whether that meant he made it out or not, Ansel never knew. He didn’t even know how long ago that had been - he tried to keep track of the days on the wooden walls of the cabin, but every morning when he woke his marks were gone.

Strangely enough, he looked the exact same as he had when they stumbled upon this cabin. He knew that years and years, maybe decades, had gone by, but his face and his body showed no sign of it. No wrinkles, no gray hairs, nothing. Despite the fact that he drank and smoked himself stupid each night he never got sick, never felt hungover, never felt any different from the morning before. In a way it was nice. Whoever stocked his fridge each morning and laid a packet of cigarettes on his counter each morning didn’t seem to judge his vices, and why should they? He had been here so long that he started to think of the cabin as his, and nobody else’s.

Each night before Ansel went to bed he glanced at the nicely carved wooden sign that had one day appeared above the doorway. He didn’t know who put it there, and he didn’t care at this point. It was a nice bit of wisdom, and he agreed with it.

“Let the Forest provide you with all you need, and you can stay forever.”

As he sipped his coffee he nodded his head at the saying in agreement. Out of a long formed habit made concrete by anxiety he subconsciously pulled out his worn compass and glanced at it. It spun and spun at an impossible rate.